


Marry Me

by UnicornFlowers



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Volleyball Dorks in Love, how many kinds of fluff are there?, it’s all of them, they’re in love your honor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:20:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29190717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnicornFlowers/pseuds/UnicornFlowers
Summary: Kiyoomi doesn't understand how he's in love with this man, or more so, how watching his boyfriend perform the TV equivalent of a surgeon sealing up a wound with Elmer's glue makes him think, wow, this is the person I want to spend the rest of forever with. But then again, their entire relationship has always been a mystery to Kiyoomi.OrKiyoomi is useless at romance.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 18
Kudos: 243





	Marry Me

There are three times in his life in which Kiyoomi realizes he wants to marry Atsumu Miya, three times he thinks, _damn, I want to keep this man for the rest of my life._ Only one of those three times does he summon the courage to form what he wants in words.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Kiyoomi's always known Atsumu Miya is whatever _it_ is. Atsumu Miya is it for him. He's the best, the one, the only that Kiyoomi's ever going to want or need. But there are some moments where he realizes that he'd like to see a solidifying ring on those pretty setter fingers of Atsumu's. Where he realizes that he wants to see the smile on Atsumu's face when he marries him officially.

Moments where eternity seems like a genuine possibility, a palpable thing he can hold in his hands, or reach out and take.

The first of these occurs just before they're both getting ready to go to sleep, laying in bed, shoulder to shoulder so Kiyoomi can feel Atsumu's body heat radiating off of him in waves. It's something Kiyoomi never thought he would find comforting, the warmth of another human being. And yet here he is feeling completely sated as he idly bids Komori a good night while Atsumu scrolls through his phone next to him.

He guesses that you never really outgrow a cousin when said cousin was the first (and thus far only) member of your family you'd ever come out to. And Kiyoomi finds that, in the absence of wanting anything to do with the chaos of the MSBY Jackals group chat, texting Komori suffices as his online social interaction for the night.

Plus, he really prefers spending time with Atsumu - not that he'll ever say that out loud, and especially not to the pseudo-blond's face. That would shake the foundation on which their relationship is built: insults and only expressing their true feelings through sarcasm. Atsumu's much better at the 'I'm sorry's' and 'I love you's'. But that's to be expected.

The number of times Kiyoomi's parents have told him he's loved can be counted on one and a half hands (if you're wondering what half of five fingers is, round down). Komori's said it a couple of times, but only when Kiyoomi is in great duress. Otherwise, it feels weird, and then they don't talk for a week because it's awkward.

But Atsumu could say it as many fucking times as he wanted in that honeyed accent that would be aureate gold if voices could have a color. And Kiyoomi would never get tired of hearing it - he likes hearing it too much sometimes. So much he forgets to respond, ends up staring at Atsumu as he tries to contemplate why the universe chose to grant such a gift to an emotional hardass like himself.

So they lay in bed. Kiyoomi checks his email one last time as he always does - unlike his boyfriend, he's not a heathen who forgets to sort, check or really do much of anything with his emails (also probably the reason Atsumu has upward of six thousand undread emails. Kiyoomi gets the sneaking suspicion he hasn't actually checked it since he set up his account).

Atsumu rolls over on his side to interrupt Kiyoomi's mundane activity, and though he wouldn't deign to admit it, Kiyoomi welcomes the distraction, finding himself indulging in the strawberry scent of his boyfriend's shampoo as Atsumu tucks his head under his chin.

"Smile, Omi," Kiyoomi furrows his eyebrows instead, shifting skeptical eyes to the side. But the moment is over in an instant as Atsumu rolls back to his side of the bed, back facing the spiker. Kiyoomi's tired enough that he doesn't bother making a grab for the phone, knowing it'll only start a scuffle he won't have the energy for.

"What are you doing with that?" - He's never liked his face in pictures. You can be a beautiful person and be told such on a regular basis and still look in the mirror only to see a culmination of fatal flaws. But Atsumu seems to think his face is the prettiest thing ever to exist. His Instagram is covered in Kiyoomi's dark eyes and twin moles.

Kiyoomi has told him multiple times to cut it out. It only seems to feed the setter's habit.

"Obviously postin' it on the internet so everyone can call out yer flaws," Kiyoomi's a solid sixty-seven percent sure he's joking, but his tone doesn't match his words. Atsumu worships his physical appearance as though Kiyoomi is some sort of god - the spiker feels he's hardly deserving.

"Lovely."

Kiyoomi goes back to his phone. Or more like he tells himself he's going back to his phone when, in fact, his eyes are drifting over Atsumu's shoulder- hey, he's tired, not stupid. Obviously, he's going to find out what's happening to that incriminating image.

He watches as Atsumu crops himself out of the photo and puts it in a folder full of- _huh, it's all me._ Kiyoomi's bottom lip pushes out, at first ready to chastise his boyfriend because surely this is some sort of malicious scheme. But then the album is named "💖 Omi-Kun 💖". And the words marry me are written on his tongue in cursive.

Kiyoomi swallows his thoughts, shifts his gaze to the ceiling to avoid being caught red-handed falling in love all over again - the last thing he needs is to fuck up a perfectly good thing by being impulsive and stupid. That's Atsumu's job. Kiyoomi's job is to tell him that whatever he's done is perfectly fine and allow them both to move on.

If they switched rolls now, they would both flounder with what they're supposed to do. Thus, a marriage proposal is out of the question.

Kiyoomi places his phone harshly on his bedside table with a slap, not bothering to fumble for the charger - his battery percentage, as a general rule, never dips below eighty-five. He'll be just fine for tomorrow. He has bigger things to worry about now like,

_Oh my god, I almost proposed to Atsumu Miya because he took a picture of my face._

Mere seconds pass between Kiyoomi's inner-panic attacking him mercilessly and Atsumu rolling over to drape an arm across his boyfriend's torso. Atsumu tucks his head into the crook of Kiyoomi's neck, and the spiker breathes out a sigh. He decides that, for the moment, this is good. In fact, the way unreasonably soft hair and the warmth of Atsumu's hand on his chest mix creates a soft blend of sensations that's ideal in aiding the lull of sleep.

"Night Omi, I love ya," Atsumu sighs out contentedly, warm breath coming out in even puffs against Kiyoomi's jawline. Atsumu always says 'I love you' before they go to sleep. Whether it's a habit or an intentional action, Kiyoomi doesn't know. He doesn't care anyway, both ways he adores it just the same.

Tonight, instead of 'sap', 'I should hope so' or 'I know', he says,

"I love you too."

-

Atsumu is the king of futile efforts. After three years of being on the same team and boyfriends, three years of Atsumu sliding callused fingers through thick curls, he still manages to try _every single time_ to untangle them - trust Kiyoomi on this, he's lived with them his whole life, and no amount of brushing or prodding or pulling will see them undone.

They are as costant as the passage of time, and Kiyoomi suspects they will stay rooted to their tangles until the day he dies. (You've probably guessed by now that he was his barber's worst nightmare growing up.)

And yet, as with all things in Atusmu's life, the blond approaches Kiyoomi's hair with stubborn persistence, a refusal to know when he's beat or even acknowledge the idea. It really should be quite infuriating, but there's an endearing quality to it that Kiyoomi doesn't quite have words to describe. Maybe it's one of the reasons he loves Atsumu. One of so very many.

The paramedics and his teammates had freaked out far worse than Kiyoomi had when he injured his ankle - later information would be given that it was a three-week injury at most, he wouldn't even have to miss the first part of the spring tournament.

Bokuto would still cry about it because he's sensitive like that, and Hinata would still refer to the swelling as a battle scar (despite it leaving no permanent impairment or change in Kiyoomi's appearance). And Meian would still insist he take extra time off and Foster would still give him six weeks instead of just the necessary three. And Kiyoomi would thank them, all the while knowing that he would probably return to practice as soon as his ankle stopped hurting.

(He got kicked out of practice _one time_ and Atsumu's still mad at him for it. He was honestly just going to watch, it's not like he could even play with the pain anyway - not that he didn't try because, well, you know him.)

"You know, I injured my ankle. I'm not incapable of brushing my own hair," a deadpan stare locks with Atsumu's through the glassy surface of the mirror. Hazel eyes settle with his, and Kiyoomi allows himself to be mesmerized by the way sculpted biceps shift under tanned skin as Atsumu crosses his arms over his chest.

"I'm takin' care a' ya, Omi. This is me bein' nice," the indignance in his tone is potent, and Kiyoomi knows. Yes, he knows.

Atsumu should get an award for putting up with him these past couple of weeks. As much as he wishes he were a better boyfriend, Kiyoomi's really not making it easy on him.

For one thing, Kiyoomi's lack of mobility means that Atsumu's doing _all_ the household chores that they used to split thirty-seventy (the seventy being Kiyoomi considering he actually _likes_ scrubbing bathroom tiles).

For another, Kiyoomi's been a total asshole about it - look, it's not like he can help it. This is just him reverting back to his most base form of being: rude, ungrateful, and a generally horrible person. By all accounts, Atsumu's enduring him like a champ. He pokes fun and complains, but beyond the surface-level whining, there's a patience that confuses Kiyoomi (only because he knows he himself wouldn't possess such a gift).

Of course, Kiyoomi's less than stellar temper can't be entirely blamed on him. He hasn't gotten a good night of sleep since Atsumu started sleeping on the couch in the living room a week ago. Kiyoomi almost wishes they hadn't gone to get his ankle checked out - he's not dumb, he could diagnose himself with a sprained ankle on sight alone. At least if they hadn't had to see doctor Greenfield, then Atsumu wouldn't be not sleeping with him for fear of injuring his ankle further.

The only way he even gets close to approaching REM sleep is wrapped in one of Atsumu's hoodies (he's not proud of it and he will never ever tell the setter about such a thing, but it helps). Still, though, without Atsumu's steady breaths next to him, there's no telling whether he'll get five or two hours of sleep - that's left up to chance.

"Jesus fuckin' christ is yer hair made a' steel what the fuck?" Atsumu swears a lot when he gets frustrated, usually when he comes upon a problem he can't seem to dissect with his usual tactic of rushing in head first with no semblance of a plan.

"I told you but you didn't listen," and yet Atsumu's still trying, which shouldn't be as charming as it is.

Tongue peeking out between full lips, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he tries to detangle one of what seems like a million tiny knots from Kiyoomi's jet-black hair, he looks beyond adorable. Kiyoomi doesn't know what the exceptional version of 'cute' is. Beautiful has 'ethereal', 'godly', 'divine', but cute just has 'adorable'. It hardly seems fair.

Kiyoomi watches his boyfriend's reflection in the mirror like he's watching the most captivating movie of his life - such a mundane scene shouldn't make his heart jump in his chest like it does, the act of Atsumu merely failing to brush his hair shouldn't give him butterflies, shouldn't make him feel powerless to the all-consuming affection welling in his chest.

It shouldn't make him want to get down on one knee or the words _marry me, marry me right fucking now or I might die,_ bubble to the tip of his tongue.

Atsumu Miya, a total fuckboy who confuses his left and his right far too often to be considered a functioning adult, shouldn't be the person Kiyoomi wants to spend the rest of his life with. That job should belong to a doctor or a professor, or more importantly to his parents, a woman. But Atsumu Miya is none of those things.

Kiyoomi decides since they're defying logic right now, that he might as well roll with the train of thought.

For now, he swallows down his thoughts with a gulp from the glass of water Atsumu had set next to the sink - he'd anticipated they were going to be there a while, he was right. And he tells himself that, if so ever the thought should strike him again, he'll say it.

-

_You should marry me, and here's why,_ what kind of format are you supposed to put a proposal into? Kiyoomi's only been taught slideshows and informational texts - in absence of a projector, he's elected to do this verbally.

_Because I love you. Because if you don't say yes then I kind of have nothing left. Because I love you._

Atsumu is duct-taping their TV. A horrific and utterly terrifying scene - how was he a functioning adult before Kiyoomi started doing his laundry for him? He seems to think that, as long as the TV stands upright and doesn't tip too much to the right, that it's probably okay and there's no need for worry.

This is why you don't play indoor volleyball in an apartment full of expensive things with your teammates who are on a volleyball team and, as they've recently found out, can accidentally break something like a TV with a slightly misaimed spike.

Kiyoomi doesn't understand how he's in love with this man, or more so, how watching his boyfriend perform the TV equivalent of a surgeon sealing up a wound with Elmer's glue makes him think, _wow, this is the person I want to spend the rest of forever with._ But then again, their entire relationship has always been a mystery to Kiyoomi.

Atsumu isn't classy or put-together or professional. He doesn't know how to perform most basic life skills beyond cooking scrambled eggs, he can't perform household chores for shit (even when he's trying, which is the genuinely depressing part). God, he still eats like he's five. The only reason he has the abs of a god is because his metabolism is just as stubborn as he is. In fact, Atsumu actually possesses very few of the traits Kiyoomi's grown up learning to respect.

And yet, he feels so in love that it makes him feel dizzy as he watches Atsumu support one side of their TV with his knee while he tears a piece of silvery tape with his teeth. He's so in love with Atsumu it makes his head hurt sometimes. And he doesn't understand it, he thinks he never will.

And the words just kind of...fall out, easy as dropping a piece of loose chance on the sidewalk.

"Marry me," the coins hit the ground and suddenly Kiyoomi realizes the error of his ways - he didn't drop them from his pocket, he dropped them off the fucking Empire State Building on an unsuspecting passerby.

Atsumu whips around at lightning speed, Their TV flops limply to the side like a dying fish heaving its last breaths - Kiyoomi decides he'll worry about it later. The way Atsumu's lips part and the roll of tape falls from his hand is a much more pressing matter at the moment.

"Omi..." pink lips are glossy from Atsumu obsessively licking them, nervously - it's a tick, Kiyoomi's noticed, for Atsumu to lick his lips. He's helpless to his mind tripping over whether or not he's nervous because he's about to say no.

Kiyoomi's dug his grave - it's shallow, hopeless, with all the precision and refinement of a man drunk - he might as well lie in it. Plus, he realizes, if he's not going to marry Atsumu, then what is he going to do? What is he planning to do if not marry the man he's in love with? If he can't have Atsumu forever, then what is the fucking point? Which sounds childish and selfish but it's so horribly, terrifyingly, grotesquely true.

"You should marry me, because I love you," he presents at a whisper. If Kiyoomi was a product for sale, no one would buy him, he lacks the confidence a salesperson requires. "I love you so much it's giving me a headache. And I don't like- or rather can't stand, the idea of not having you forever. So, marry me."

"Omi..."

"Please don't say no, or if you're going to say no then don't say anything because I think it might kill me...for real," Kiyoomi nods, more to himself than Atsumu. He halts the movement of his hands which he hadn't even noticed until mere seconds ago, stilling them where they attempt to wring each other dry. "It's just...you make me a better person and...when I'm with you I'm...happy-"

He stops talking if only momentarily to watch with careful eyes as Atsumu side-steps the coffee table and presses their bodies so close that their chests touch - Kiyoomi still can't read what he's thinking. This must be the single most terrifying moment of his life-

And then Atsumu is kissing him, hard and sweet and intense, callused hands framing Kiyoomi's face and pulling him impossibly closer. And Kiyoomi melts, not slowly like romance movies would have you believe, but rapidly, all at once, falling into molten gold where he stands, trapped by Atsumu's hands on his cheeks.

The movements of their lips are improvised but perfectly in sync, owing to the fact that they're two halves of a whole. While not incomplete on their own, they are two pieces of a puzzle that slot together perfectly to create a more beautiful picture.

So Kiyoomi breathes in the moment as much as he can while he's drowning in the sweet taste of Atsumu's lips and the lingering of vanilla that rests on them. Allows himself to falter long and slow as he entangles Atsumu' in his arms - he could hold and never let go and freeze time, allowing this picture painted in perfect brush strokes to just _be_.

And then Atsumu's pulling away, and he's crying, shimmering tears staining flushed cheeks. And Kiyoomi doesn't know whether to beg for forgiveness or run away before his world officially comes crashing down around him.

Thankfully, he doesn't get the chance to do either of those things.

"Yes. Yeah, Kiyoomi I'll marry ya. I'll marry ya 'cause ya love me, but also 'cause I love ya too."

So there Kiyoomi melts - his soul to liquid stardust, his lips into a smile, his heart into Atsumu's hands, entrusting the setter to do what he will with it knowing it'll stay safe and sound.

"You couldn't have led with that?" Kiyoomi cups the hands still framing his face, entangles their fingers in a gesture so familiar that still makes his heartbeat in his chest. There's no room for sarcasm this time. "I love you, Atsumu."

"I love you too, Omi."

**Author's Note:**

> not me unloading the sappiest fucking part of my brain into this fic. this is actually part of a one shot book on my other fanfic account, but i figured i’d post it here too because i actually had a lot of fun writing it. 
> 
> anyway, i hope you enjoyed <3 have a lovely day/night, luvs~!


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